


Close Enough To Touch

by stinky28



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: M/M, Met Gala, Met Gala After-Party, No Smut, Rockstar!Harry, dj!louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22758184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stinky28/pseuds/stinky28
Summary: “You are killing it!” The stranger shouts in his ear, to which Louis raises a brow, setting up the next transition and song, bobbing a bit in place before glancing over to the stranger and Oh. Red.He’s staring right at a very large, oddly tied red bow tie. It takes up the whole stranger’s chest and..it’s bloody brilliant. He fucking loves it. He feels himself break into a giant grin, looking up at Mr. Red Bowtie’s face and Oh. Fuck.OR an au where louis is the dj for the met gala after party and harry can’t leave his side
Relationships: Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles
Comments: 13
Kudos: 221





	Close Enough To Touch

**Author's Note:**

> beta: azzurrachiara
> 
> this one has been in the drafts for a while! to fully experience this fic, please rewatch any videos and view photos of harry from the gala after party as ive made lots of references. and pls enjoy! twitter: @sadandsex

Louis looks over his setup one last time, making sure every wire is connected where it should be, running a jittery hand through his hair. He’s never understood why he gets so nervous still, he’s built up quite a good name for himself, playing festivals and big name events almost every weekend. And sure, to some people it seems to be just pressing a bunch of buttons, but it’s much more than that. It takes knowledge of music, of transitions, of rhythm. Not to mention the absolute necessity of being able to read a crowd, to know what music will be appreciated and what tempo is needed to keep the guests partying and happy. It’s a lot more than pushing buttons, thank you very much. 

He looks out to the gymnasium, which, if you ask him, is a very odd place to hold the after-party to such a big event, but who’s he to say anything? Plus, he really loves having the basketball hoop right behind him, so no complaints here. 

It’s why he’s so nervous, though. He can’t believe a little Donny boy like him is the DJ for the Met Gala Gucci after-party. The fucking Met Gala. The biggest fashion event of the year. With an after party thrown by the biggest name in fashion. The worst part is, he knows fuck all about it. When he got the invite to do the music for the night, he instantly panicked, calling up both Lottie and Liam to help him buy a new outfit. He’s very lucky money hasn’t been a problem for him for a couple years now. He glances down at said outfit, a fitted gray blazer over a plain white shirt, slightly tight gray trousers to match. He decided to go with casual shoes, didn’t want to make it seem he was pretending to know what fashion even was.

He’d always been interested, sure. He loved indulging in new trends, frequented high-end brands, and even watched runway shows to just be informed. He just wasn’t the best at applying it all to himself. 

As workers scurry across the wood floors, chairs and tables set up between the two sides of bleachers in front of his booth, Louis realized the guests would soon be arriving. He started his tracks for the night, glancing at the printed out schedule of different people speaking, and performing, and all of that fancy, important stuff. He really only noted when he was meant to be doing anything. 

He tries to think back to earlier that day, about who was meant to be at the Gala and who wasn’t. Unfortunately, a lot of his famous friends weren’t going to be there. Oddly enough, producers and DJ’s aren’t always the first to come to mind when thinking ‘Met Gala’ or ‘Camp.’ Crazy, I know. 

He’s beyond stoked to see Cher, who will be performing right in front of his own very booth, which, holy fuck. He has his twink years to thank for the outstanding love he has for her. 

Other than that though, there isn’t anyone who really gets his blood rushing with the idea of seeing them dancing to his mixes. He’s never been one to get very starstruck, even before being in the spotlight himself. Never really kept up with the new gossip or what’s-haps in the media. Why wring entertainment out of watching and comparing lives of other human beings?

He fixes his fringe one last time as people start filing in. The majority of them are all still decked out in their extravagant camp-themed clothes, which Louis can’t help but admire. It’s his favorite Gala theme thus-far. The emphasis on androgyny, flamboyancy, and imagination just fills him with so much joy and pride. He was very much looking forward to how each person decided to interpret that tonight. 

Louis stayed by the gigantic bar when he wasn’t needed on stage, stocked with every expensive liquor you could imagine. He doesn’t indulge too much, no matter how much he wants to, he has a long night ahead of him, after all. So he continues nursing his one drink, slow sips of his straw as he surveyed the room, one of the acts performing on stage. His eyes lit up every time he saw a particularly inspiring outfit, making sure to note in his head to speak to that person later. He glances back to the stage just in time to see the last person meant to speak finishing up their spiel. He hadn’t really paid attention to anyone else, other than Cher of course, though he could tell some quite popular people had been speaking, if the cheers from the hundreds of people were anything to go by. 

He downs the rest of his drink, smiling politely to the bartender who he could tell was enjoying all the big names in the room, including himself, a little too much. Not enough to make anyone uncomfortable, nor get in the way of his job, but definitely noticeably ecstatic. Louis climbs the steps back up behind his booth, pressing a couple of the programs to load up as the girl speaking (he thinks she’s a model) turns behind to look to him. 

“And, without further ado, let’s fucking party, bitches! Hit it, Lou!”

Louis shoots a wink to her, looking out to the crowd with a big smile before starting a remix to one of those shitty top 100 songs that’s been circulating the past week. Thank God his version gives it a bit more taste. The crowd goes ballistic, cheering and clinking drinks, a couple arms being raised in the air to dance. Louis knows it’s going to be a good night, and an even better crowd. They’re all already drunk, happy the stress of outfit picking and changes are over, surrounded by other celebrities, their friends, with the only intention to get positively fucked up and have an amazing night, all of them probably already having the next day clear to recover. Yeah, it’ll be a good night for sure. 

Louis plays hit after hit, this crowd being relatively easy to read. He kept mostly to recent pop, radio-hits that everyone could drunkenly yell along to. He threw in an occasional classic, like Dancing Queen or Under Pressure, which drove everyone wild. He doesn’t think his grin has disappeared in hours. 

People have been coming up behind his booth all night, clapping him on the back, introducing themselves, requesting songs (which he more often than not played for them, what can he say, he’s a people pleaser). He has met some really kind people, something he could tell would last even past inebriation. 

Unfortunately, he’s always been quite shit with names, and the way the purple and red lights flashed across everyone’s faces, it wasn’t an easy task to keep everyone straight.

It wasn’t until just before midnight he felt a large hand land on his left shoulder. 

“You are killing it!” The stranger shouts in his ear, to which Louis raises a brow, setting up the next transition and song, bobbing a bit in place before glancing over to the stranger and Oh. Red. 

He’s staring right at a very large, oddly tied red bow tie. It takes up the whole stranger’s chest and..it’s bloody brilliant. He fucking loves it. He feels himself break into a giant grin, looking up at Mr. Red Bowtie’s face and Oh. Fuck. 

He’s pretty. Like, really pretty. Louis takes one hand, cupping his headphones and dragging them down off his own ears so they’re resting on his shoulders. Suddenly, being this close, Louis isn’t just seeing purple and red lights flashing across another celebrity’s flushed face. He thinks he’s looking into the face of Adonis. That’s a Greek God, right? He never was quite good in uni, evidently. Anyways, he knows he’s seen the face before, on some shitty magazine or on a poster or..

On an album. Definitely on an album. Definitely dealing with a singer. But who is it? Obviously not someone he has in the line-up to play tonight, he knows all of them, he has to. Plus wouldn’t that be awfully embarrassing, to play the song of someone standing right next to him? Though, if the giant bowtie is anything to go by, he doesn’t think this beautiful man minds a bit of attention every now and then. 

Louis should be speaking. Should be responding. Quit gawking. He swipes his tongue into the corner of his lip, hoping to not find any drool dripping there (thank goodness there’s not).

“Thanks, mate! S’my job, glad m’not shit at it.” Mr. High-Waisted Bowtie Singer man let’s out a bark of a laugh, which makes Louis’s cheek burn with how hard he smiles. “Louis.” He holds out his hand, unable to tear his eyes away from the other man’s, trying to remember his name and..holy fuck, it may be dark, and they may be glassed over already, but are his eyes green?! Fuck. 

“Harry. Styles.” He drawls out, which Louis doesn’t even know how it’s possibly to speak so low and oddly slow when he’s shouting to be heard over the speakers, but, whatever. Styles. Harry. Fuck, of course! He hasn’t had new music in years, and even so, Louis didn’t listen to his album much. Gave it a quick listen when Stevie fucking Nicks performed with the lad once, but never again after that. Wasn’t too bad, if he remembers correctly. A good rock album, something the modern day has been lacking recently. 

Louis nods once, returning back to his setup, not bothering putting his headphones back over his ears. He feels his heart hammering in his chest which is..odd. He’s well over the nerves of the big night, and he’s barely had any alcohol..he can’t possibly be worked up over some young rockstar in a giant fucking bowtie of all things, can he? Sure, he was pretty, but come on, Tomlinson. Lots of pretty men have greeted you today. Get yourself together. 

He shakes his head a bit, bouncing from foot to foot along to the music. He switches between songs, his focus staying on his own hands on the switches and buttons for twenty minutes, putting on Cardi B which he knew would elicit an excited singalong from the crowd. He suddenly feels a hot breath on his neck, someone pressed along the side of his arm, looking over his shoulder to see what he was doing. Louis furrows his brow, putting on a polite smile, about to ask gently if they had a request before being unable to find his voice. It was Harry. Still. He hasn’t moved from his side since their little greeting, which Louis hadn’t even noticed, because he thought he’d just stalk back to the party like everyone else but. Nope. Here he is. Looking like a soft cherub, a dimple cratering his cheek as he looks from Louis hand’s to his face, admiring what Louis is doing, his own hands clasped together in front of him. “Wicked.” He breathes out, looking into Louis’s eyes for a split second before turning on his heel, talking to a very beautiful girl and what seems to be a photographer behind him. 

Louis lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Alright, so Harry Styles with the red bowtie thinks DJing is cool. That’s cool. He likes someone who can admire what he does. Especially someone as fucking stunning as Harry Styles. As he sets up his next couple songs, he can’t help but notice Harry never straying from his side, which, is interesting. In fact, they seem to be always touching. Whether arm to arm, or back to arm, or heel to heel. And Louis can’t seem to mind one bit. 

—————————————————————-

He clicks on ‘All The Way Up’ to which many drinks get raised in the air as people dance along when he hears, “How long?” 

It’s the voice he’s found himself tuning in to all night. How couldn’t he? It was like he had a shadow next to him behind the booth, who’s slurred words rang through Louis’s mind every time, even though it was mostly lame puns or discussing the Gala. He’s found out a lot about Harry, even though they’ve barely had a real conversation. He’s learned he swears, a lot, progressively more as more drinks are poured. He learns about his friends who stick around the most with him behind the booth, Louis’s booth, Alexa and Jeff. Jeff, being his manager, who Harry refuses to introduce him as, which shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. He’s learned that Harry’s a big name in Gucci now, and how excited he is to have worn them all night, how much he loves supporting Alessandro. Which. Also endearing, especially when Harry turns to wave to him every couple of minutes in the crowd. 

But it’s not one-sided. Louis isn’t just eavesdropping and tacking down all this information to hoard for himself. Harry is learning about him too. That’s only because he randomly asks Louis a question every couple songs, to which Louis answers, and Harry just nods thoughtfully and returns to what he was doing. “Family?” “Four sisters, one brother.” “Mini hot dogs or full ones?” “Full, I guess?” “Tequila or rum?” “Rum, 100%.” “What’s your favorite emoji?” “Sunglasses face.” “Most favorite song ever?” “M’a fucking DJ, mate, can’t answer that. Changes hourly.” Louis can’t get enough of it, his lips turning up in a small smile every time he hears Harry begin to ask another. Which, he’s meant to be answering right now. 

He looks over at Harry, who’s leaning against the side of the booth, ankles crossed in front of his long, long legs. They probably look immensely longer with the high pants, but still, long. He’s watching Louis so intently, a slight dopey grin making that adorable dimple appear, blinking slowly as the lights flash across his unfairly perfect skin. 

“How long, what, Harold? Didn’t think we were getting to the naughty questions yet, but, if you must know—“

Harry’s eyes widen, and Louis can notice the color deepening in his already flushed cheeks. “No, Mr. Cheeky. How long have you been doing music?”

Louis knew what he meant, but he couldn’t help tossing his head back as he lets out a laugh at how flustered Harry got. He’s definitely putting ‘Made Harry Styles blush’ on his resume. He returns his gaze to Harry, who’s watching him with a smile that fits his cheeks just perfectly and something akin to fondness in his eyes. 

“Four years now, yeah. Well, at least four years of this.” He gestures to all his equipment, a grand sweep of his right arm. “Was producing and writing before that.”

“You write?” Harry asks a bit too excitedly, standing up quickly which causes him to sway a bit. Louis can’t help but smile. 

“Yeah, yeah. Not as much as I used to, but, y’know how it goes, don’t you, rockstar?” He gives a quick wink, looking back down. He sees Harry start to pull at his bottom lip, which looks unnaturally pink, but Louis thinks it’s not polite to ask if someone is wearing lipstick. He realizes Harry is deciding to say something else, which he must decide against because he just turns his body towards the crowd, doing the small little pump of his bent arms in front of him as he twists his body, a very popular dance move for Mr. Styles, Louis has picked up on. 

As the night progresses, he is unable to keep his attention away from Harry. He looks to him every time he throws in a record scratch, or a wicked bass drop, just to see his very expressive new friend react. And it’s adorable every time. He finds himself bumping hips along to the music, laughing as they yell lyrics back and forth to each other. He feels himself getting warm, always so warm, because Harry always has to be touching. And it’s innocent, always innocent, but whether it’s a soft hand on the shoulder, or gentle fingertips on the side, his skin feels like a livewire beneath each one. Which, it shouldn’t, he knows Harry does that with all of his friends, but. Louis is sailing off just enough drinks to be tipsy, high off the excitement of the crowd, and through the roof with the beauty that is Harry Styles. He’s allowed to feel whatever the fuck he wants. 

He feels Harry’s hand pressed to his lower back, under his jacket, which is interesting, to say the very least. “Louuuu. Lou.” Another thing about Harry Styles, he loves nicknames. “Play Valerie, will you? Amy Winehouse? Please? Pleaaase?” 

“You’re whining.” Louis tuts with a grin and a nod. Harry beams, pressing a wet kiss to Louis’s temple before turning back to Alexa. Louis takes a shuddering breath as he sets up the song. It’s just a fucking song, right? A very popular one, at that. There is no hidden, fate-ridden, universe-fuckery meaning behind the fact it happens to be the very first song Louis ever performed in front of people. Nope. It’s just a song, that many people like, including Harry Styles. The opening notes play through the speakers and Louis glances behind him, Harry smiling wide and dancing as fluidly as his lanky body allows with Alexa, their eyes meeting and Harry mouthing a soft ‘thank you.’ Louis can only just nod before he’s turning back to the crowd, singing along softly under his breath. 

He loses Harry for a bit, and it shouldn’t suck as much as it does, but it really, really does. He feels stupid, obviously Harry wasn’t going to stay up at the booth all night. He’s a charming, popular rockstar, who absolutely loves making anyone smile in an immediate distance around him. Of course he’d go socialize. And by the looks of the amount of eyes following him wherever he goes, people love to talk to him as much as he loves entertaining them with little stories and anecdotes. Louis tries to keep his eyes down, knows he’ll look pathetic if they train Harry’s every move like they want to. He steals glances when he can, from him swaying back and forth to the music, to sipping from his upteenth drink, to his ring-clad fingers threading through his damp hair, the jewels glinting in the neon lights, to barking out a laugh at something one of his friend’s has said, clamping his long fingers over his pretty pink lips. Yeah, Louis knows his descriptions of the boy are getting less and less PG rated as the night goes on, but he blames it on the liquor and his love of having attention from pretty boys. 

During ‘California Love’, Louis watches as boys and girls alike start dancing a bit too suggestively with Harry. And. What the fuck? Is that jealousy Louis is feeling? Over someone he’s met mere hours prior? Not a good sign, not even in the slightest. He’s being dumb, a bit of a baby even. Attention is off him and so his body translates it to ‘jealousy’. It’s stupid, and inaccurate. Harry Styles is as free as the birds tattooed on Louis’s forearm. But, if he changes the song to something less grindable, in order to ruin those girl’s and boy’s plans, then, no one has to know but himself. 

He can spot Harry holding a tray of finger foods at one point, which really looks quite appropriate with the outfit he has, and Louis can’t believe the most talked about celebrity at this party is offering fucking tiny quiches on a silver platter to all the guests. He can see someone deny him at one point, to which Harry puts on the most dramatic pout he’s ever seen and even stomps his fucking foot. Oh my God. The guest tries to insist that they aren’t hungry (How fucking dare they, just please the kid and take one) but Harry doesn’t let up, insistently pushing the tray towards them, seemingly listing off all the reasons to have one. Finally, the person, unknown to Louis, gives in and he swears the skies have opened up and the sun has blinded him when Harry beams as they eat it, pressing sloppy kisses all along their cheeks in gratitude before sauntering off to find his next hungry victim. 

‘Lemon’ blasts through the speakers when he hears the bright voice behind him again. “Louehhhh!”

“Oioiii! Mr. Popular returns!” 

He feels Harry grinning against the back of his shoulder, shaking his head a little, the couple of long strands of his hair tickling Louis’s neck. “M’not Mr. Popular.”

“The line out the door to speak to you says otherwise.” Louis says with a grin, not even having to look at the boy pressed against him to know the giddy, drunken stupor that’s most likely displayed on his pretty face. 

Harry digs his finger into Louis’s side, eliciting a squeak and a bat of his hands. “Shuddup.” He mumbles against his blazer, and Louis swears he feels the ghost of a nuzzle against the side of his neck before the warmth of the body (and what feels like the warmth inside him, too) is ripped away, dancing freely with his friends. 

Louis is so in over his head. 

He plays banger after banger, if he may say so himself, putting on Rolling in the Deep, which seems to excite Harry very much. “I fucking love this song!” He exclaims, squeezing Louis’s side despite him talking to Alexa. He can hear them shouting to the lyrics behind him, throwing the words up into the high gymnasium ceilings. Louis feels like if he can try hard enough, he can hear the sound of happy, drunk Harry reverberating through the air, lifting everyone’s spirits with him. It’s a beautiful thing, really. 

He decides to throw in a sick breakdown, with a bit of a record scratch, just to amp up the crowd a bit more. He can feel Harry’s bum bumping into his own every now and then, which makes a small smile stay on his lips. He feels Harry turn to him as he starts the buildup, sees him in his peripherals as his own hands frantically move to press and switch and turn everything they’re meant to in order to make it sound just right, and when the beat does drop, heavy on the horns, he feels Harry’s large hand gripping his shoulder, a loud “OHHHH FUUUUUUUCK!” being exclaimed into his ear, which makes Louis’s body fill with pride and shake with giddy excitement, his smile nearly splitting his face. Harry keeps holding onto him, and it’s like high energy and happiness is radiating off him as he bops along to the song, Louis letting out soft, embarrassed chuckles beneath his breath every time he glances to see Harry utterly impressed with his work. Louis could retire right then and there, he means it, he doesn’t think anything else could compare to the feeling of pleasing Harry. 

Now that he thinks about it, that doesn’t sound very innocent, though it’s meant to be. Except..the other option does not seem to awful either. Who can help it? He’s stunning, he owns a room, like he knows he could grab the attention of anyone he pleases. He’s so charming in a perfectly dorky, intoxicated way. He’s humble, and caring, and makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room and. Okay. Louis really needs to stop turning in a wax poet every time he thinks about Harry. 

Louis can notice the crowd before him starting to dwindle down, glancing at the watch on his wrist, not even realizing it was nearing three in the morning already. Harry has disappeared for a bit again, but Louis didn’t even see him in the crowd. 

He hasn’t left, has he? Without a proper goodbye? No, of course he left. He had probably meant to say goodbye, but was so drunk and so swept up in the plans to the next party, he must have been unable to make it back which is, fine, really. Louis doesn’t know what Harry’s plans were for after this, and he has no way of finding out, not like those are going to be plastered across the streets of New York. He tries to focus on what songs to play, to lower the mood, to signify to move on to the next event and let the poor workers clean up the mess that this gymnasium has become. He sure hopes students don’t have to be here tomorrow. He can’t stop his mind from drifting, trying to sift through all the many words he heard Harry spoke, looking for anything pertaining to an after-after party. He feels the ghost touch of Harry, on his back, his sides, his neck, his shoulder, feels the heat spread across him. He feels the radiance that follows Harry, the absolutely overwhelming feeling of joy and comfort you feel around him. He feels—

Harry. He physically feels him, no longer a figment of his imagination, his entire front pressed to Louis’s back. Louis keeps his head crooked down, his ear pressed to the speaker of his headphones as he glances to his left, a photographer snapping a photo with Harry pressed up against him. He’s definitely going to need to get his hands on that. He glances out to the crowd, feeling Harry peel off of him but not before another photo is taken, where Louis can feel Harry’s lips pressed to his shoulder blade, even through the layers of fabric. And Louis really, really wishes there weren’t layers of fabric. 

“Fleur Room. Me ‘nd my friend, hosting, after-after party. S’gonna be a good time. Want you there.” Another thing about drunk Harry Styles: full sentences are too difficult. 

Louis freezes for a moment, glancing back at Harry and, fuck, is he pouting? As if Louis would say fucking no. “I’d love to, Harold. I’d be honored. Sure I’m cool enough to hang around your friends?”

Harry stands up straighter, clapping his hands together once before folding them in front of himself, a giant grin making that god forsaken dimple pull all of Louis’s attention. “The coolest! You’re so cool, Lou, God, I wish I could do what you do! Everything you do is just so..so..”

“Cool?” Louis supplies with a wink, hoping the soft pink tint on his cheeks will go unnoticed. 

Harry relaxes, nodding slowly and blinking even slower. “Yeah. Cool.” He says, a bit belatedly. Oh, what Louis would do to live in Harry’s thoughts, just for a day. It seems like there’s a gentle stream, constantly trickling through his mind that he has to carefully dip into and pick his thoughts out of, his words both careful and easy at once. On the long list of things to admire. 

Louis can hear Harry bustling around and talking to people behind him, taking final pictures and making final plans. Apparently some drunk girl blabbered all about the after-after party, and it was already so last second and unplanned, Harry’s decided to just say fuck it and let it happen anyways, uninvited guests there or not. His ‘friend’ hosting with him happens to be none other than Kendall Jenner. And believe him, Louis wishes he didn’t know who the Kardashians and Jenners were. They never rubbed him the right way, has met Kylie a couple times. They don’t really help in his ‘Don’t treat celebrities like zoo animals’ agenda. He wonders how someone as wonderful as Harry got wrapped up in all..that. He really hopes it’s not anything similar to the scenarios Louis’s jealous side of his mind is conjuring up. 

When Harry does actually leave, he doesn’t do it with quite an overdramatic farewell, shouting his goodbyes as roses are thrown at him, which, in Louis’s opinion, should happen every time Harry speaks. Instead, he grabs both of Louis’s hands, after many failed attempts of swatting him away, because, hello, he has a job here to do, and brings each one to his lips. “Goodbye, very talented hands who brought us amazing songs and long-lasting memories.” Harry mumbles against Louis’s skin, who can only roll his eyes and let out a snort. 

“You’re a weird one, Styles.” He manages to say, hoping the fond dripping on his words isn’t too evident. 

“You love it, Tomlinson.” Harry says with a wink, kissing both of Louis’s cheeks once, squeezing his hands before letting go completely. “See you soon! Just tell them at the door who you are, they’ll let you in.”

Louis nods a little, biting the inside of his cheek. trying to hide his giddy smile. “Yeah, yeah, go on, you have a party to host!”

“Co-host! Oh and, Lou.” He places his hand on his shoulder and Louis can see him pouting, even from a side-glance. “M’sorry the music will be rubbish there compared to what you can do. I hope you don’t mind.” 

Louis rolls his eyes playfully, complete adoration filling his heart at the knowledge of Harry thinking of him, him of all people, just the DJ who he’s only met tonight. “I bet it will be lovely. And I hope to get so smashed I don’t even know what’s playing.” He says with a smirk, to which Harry brightens immediately. 

“I can definitely make sure that happens!”

“You better, I gotta catch up to you, and fast!” He teases, pressing his ear to his headphones again. 

“Shuddup! I’ll have a whole tray of drinks ready for you!”

“Only if you’re serving, then, with that kit and all.” He says, barely even able to get his jab out without bursting into laughter. 

Harry gawks at him for a few moments, glancing down and adjusting his now very worn bowtie. “I look classy and sophisticated and motherfucking camp, thank you.” He challenges, and Louis would think he’s actually offended, except the fond smile pushing the dimple to appear tells otherwise. 

“Waddle along, then. Night is far from over!” Louis calls over his shoulder as Harry is dragged towards the exit. He glances down at the crowd and sees Harry flipping him off for the waddling comment, very intently staring at him until Louis looks, and when their eyes meet they both break into laughter, pure elated laughter, and he watches fondly as Harry blows multiple kisses to him as he stumbles out of the gymnasium. 

Yeah, Louis is fucked. 

Louis is one of the last ones to leave about an hour later, making sure his team has everything set to break his booth down. He thanks them all, patting each one on the back before collecting his phone and wallet, stuffing them into his jacket pocket. He weighs his options for a moment, knowing he could easily just take the 6 train up to the Fleur, but, it’s late, and there’s not a lot of traffic, so he just waves down a taxi and climbs in. 

As he watches the streetlights and tall buildings flit by his window, he feels the strange sensation of butterflies fluttering around in his gut, something he doesn’t think he’s felt in years. All because the dope that is Harry Styles couldn’t stray from his side all night. Which doesn’t make sense to him at all. Of course, he talked when Harry spoke to him first, but other than that he was quite focused on, you know, doing his fucking job. He probably wasn’t very fun to hang around at all. Maybe Harry had an interest in starting DJing? Doesn’t fit his whole glam rocker look but hey, these days you can do anything and everything at once. Maybe Harry just doesn’t like crowds too much, so he wanted to stay above it all as much as possible? Maybe, just maybe, he wanted to stay close to Louis, felt the inexplicable pull the two of them had, the instantaneous comfort they felt to just be themselves around one another. Or maybe Harry was just drunk, and Louis is analyzing this way too much. Probably that one. 

He wipes his damp palms on his pants, forgetting how expensive Gucci really is as he mutters curses under his breath, handing the money to the driver with quite the generous tip, thanking him for the ride. He climbs out, a bit surprised at the lack of paparazzi as he walks into the Fleur Room. He approaches the man at the desk, who, quite frankly, looks like he’s about to throw a vase at Louis’s head. 

“Ehm, Louis Tomlinson, Harry—“

He nearly jumps back from the desk, his arms flailing into the air with a groan of..relief?

“Man, I know who you are! Harry has stumbled down here asking where you were every twenty minutes for the past hour,”

Louis can feel the heat, warming his ears and cheeks, all the way down his neck and chest. Harry was..asking for him? Him, of all people? Of all the celebrities Harry has entertained tonight, Harry was searching for...him? What a fucking dork. Louis is in love. 

“Right, sorry..about that? Ehm, so, do I—“

“Yes! Yes, sorry, it’s been so hectic here, all of it quite last minute, which is completely fine! Completely handled, yes, of course, just take the elevator up to the lounge.”

He nods with a quick thank you before boarding the elevator, pushing the button for the lounge. He nervously rocks on the balls of his feet, glancing at his reflection in the mirror, fixing his hair and sniffing under his arms, entirely grateful he still smells quite delicious, trying to still his shaking hands as he enters the lounge. 

It’s fucking gorgeous. He didn’t expect anything less. The view is spectacular, never can quite get used to New York City at night. Everything looks expensive, very expensive, and you can feel the drunk energy buzzing off every guest. Louis heads straight to the bar, ordering the strongest drink they have and probably sipping on it a bit too quickly when—

“You made it.”

It’s quiet, right into his ear, it’s soft. Louis didn’t realize how fucking loud the gym was until he had the slight ring in his ear from the lack of bass knocking around his brain in his skull. He didn’t realize he’d only really heard Harry shout all night, so this..this was different. And really, really nice. And probably shouldn’t be affecting him as much as it is. 

He turns, brightly smiling at Harry, who’s hair is just a little bit flatter, his eyes a little more glassy, his bowtie a little more messy. “I made it! Wicked party you’ve got here, mate, everyone seems to be buzzing—“

“You took a while.” He gets cut off, each word so slow to leave those perfect pink lips and, yes, Louis can confirm he’s definitely wearing lippy. No denying it when you’re inspecting this close, especially when they’re in the dramatic pout that Harry is sporting right now, his furrowed brow creasing his forehead. His green eyes, currently mostly swallowed by the black pupil, are boring into Louis’s, unwavering and intense. 

“Had to finish entertaining the crowd, Harold. You know how that goes.” Louis tries to come off as nonchalant, teasing, even, but his voice is breathy as Harry’s hand comes to rest on his side, under the blazer, always under the blazer, just above his hip, his thumb gently grazing over his white shirt, back and forth, back and forth. 

“I do know how that goes.” He slurs out, searching Louis’s eyes for a couple moments longer before the back of his fingers are dragging along Louis’s inner arm, finally coming to hook his long, bejeweled, painted fingers with Louis’s quite plain, short ones. “C’mon. We’re over here.”

This is all new to Louis. This soft, gentle Harry. Must be how it goes after one two many. Louis can’t decide which he likes more, the room-filling, laughing, goofily dancing Harry or this quiet, careful, even more touchy one. He follows him closely, squeezing his fingers once and sipping his drink. He’s dragged to a couch, with a small circular table in front of it. He notices Kendall there, along with Jeff, and two other people he doesn’t recognize. Once Harry is around more people, he clicks on like a switch. Louis admires the need to entertain. 

“Everyone! Lou made it! Wasn’t he just spectacular tonight?! Would have been totally fucking awful if he wasn’t there, right?” They all chuckle at Harry’s enthusiasm, probably all as drunk as him, nodding and shaking Louis’s hand, praising him as well. 

Louis blushes, shoving Harry playfully. “Oh, shush. Just know how to read a crowd.” He shrugs, downing the rest of the drink, Harry suddenly having pulled a new one seemingly out of his ass. “Told you I would help you catch up.” He says slowly into his ear, his voice somehow deeper and oh. No. Not now. Louis is not getting hard over Harry Styles’s voice of all things. 

“Yeah, cheers, mate.” He clinks it to Harry’s, their eye contact unbreaking as they both sip from their glasses, the rim of Harry’s just barely hiding his smirk which makes those butterflies from earlier completely erupt, burning his chest and stomach from the inside out. 

The night progresses, and everyone gets more drunk, and more happy, and more friendly. Harry is currently exaggeratedly telling the story of when Nick Grimshaw hired a stripper for his 19th birthday. He decides to pair this story with a reenactment, climbing onto Jeff’s lap who just falls on his back on the couch, both of their bodies shaking with laughter as Harry tries to continue with his story, his eyes darting from person to person to make sure he’s enraptured their attention. It’s all quite silly, and Louis can’t help the eye-crinkling grin that’s permanently stuck on his lips as he watches. 

They all take turns telling stories, Jeff attempting to embarrass Harry as much as he can, Kendall telling some story about her very interesting family, Louis sharing wild festival-attendee stories he’s witnessed first hand. He’s drunk, and comfortable, and so unbelievably happy. He basically preens every time Harry laughs at his jokes, laugh so pure and real that Louis wishes he could just record and listen to on loop. Over time, Harry has made his way to Louis’s side, his arm laying on the back of the couch behind him, fingers drawing gentle shapes into his shoulder. And it just feels..right. 

Jeff keeps shooting them knowing glances, a soft smirk on his lips as Harry grows cuddlier, and Louis can’t help the blush every time his eyes meet Jeff’s, under the impression he knows more than him. 

One of their friends, who Louis can’t remember the name of for the life of him, is rattling off a story about when he accidentally took molly, when he feels Harry’s lips grazing his ear. 

“M’really happy we met tonight. M’sorry I never left your side.” He mumbles, slow and gentle, and every hair on Louis’s body stands on end. He turns his head, so their noses brush and he’s looking into those gentle eyes, the eyes that haven’t left him all night. 

“Me too, Harold. I didn’t mind one bit. Though, a bit worried you’re gonna take over my job and do it way better.” 

Harry lets out a laugh through his nose, his eyes flickering to Louis’s lips before searching his own again. “Could never. You’re the best, I mean it.” 

Louis rolls his eyes fondly, reaching up and pushing a stray strand of hair back from Harry’s forehead. What? He gets tactile when he’s drunk, too. Harry’s head follows Louis’s touch, a satisfied hum rumbling in his throat. 

“Thank you, Harry. Really. You made this night unforgettable.” He confesses, his voice gentle, wanting to keep the moment between them, wanting to savor every second. 

He sees the glint of excitement flash through Harry’s eyes, that fucking dimple making another appearance. “Yeah?”

“Yeah..” Louis responds, quietly, so quietly, and he can feel Harry’s breath against his lips, staying quiet for just a moment before his whole body is electrified as their lips meet, soft and gentle and reeking of mixed drinks, Harry gripping his shoulder to pull him a bit closer, other hand resting on Louis’s thigh. Louis breathes him in, hand on the back of his neck, playing with the short hairs at the nape. Their lips mould together, a little dry, Louis sucking softly on that pretty pink bottom lip he’s wanted to taste all night, eliciting a soft moan of approval from Harry which, yeah, Louis is definitely going to need to hear more of that. He contemplates just straddling Harry’s lap, saying fuck-all to the company around them but before he gets the chance, Harry is pulling away, his chest rising and falling deeply in attempt to catch his breath. 

“Was that alright?” He mumbles against his lips, eyes fluttering open to look at Louis again and Louis is so fucked. Of course, of course perfect Harry Styles, mind numb due to alcohol, probably, still asking if it was alright that he kissed him. He’s a literal angel sent from the Gucci God’s above. 

“More than alright. Way more than.” Louis assures, grazing his lips over his once more before—

“Alright, lads, took you long enough, really, but has it got to be in front of us all?” 

Harry looks smug, so smug, not even turning to look at Jeff as he speaks, keeping his gaze on Louis as he just shrugs. Louis blushes deeply, glancing at the people sitting around them, all of them watching with amusement. “Right, yeah, sorry.”

“I’m not.” Harry tacks on, lips grazing across Louis’s jaw before pulling away. “I’m not sorry one bit.”

He gets a couple laughs from that, a knowing roll of Jeff’s eyes with a ‘I know you’re not, fucker.’ and Louis is just a mess, his heart feeling as if it’s about to explode out of his chest, his lips still tingling from where Harry’s pressed against them. 

Harry’s gentle fingertips press to Louis’s chin, pushing softly so Louis looks back to him, a dazed, fond look etched in his features. “We could, like, go back to my hotel, rest up? Grab some coffee when we wake up? If you’re not busy..”

Louis thinks his face nearly breaks in half from his smile, excitement and butterflies and hope and adoration alighting within him. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot. A lot, H.”

“Wicked. Me too.” He gives a chaste peck to his lips once more, nuzzling his nose against Louis’s before pulling away completely, standing up on his feet with only a slight sway. The sun has begun to peek through the skyscrapers surrounding them, washing the fancy decor in a soft, golden haze, making everything feel like a perfect dream one never wants to wake up from. “Nearing 6 am, pals, way past my bedtime. Think we should head out.”

Jeff raises a brow to Louis, who only shrugs with a shy smile. He says his goodbyes to their group, Harry making quick work of whoever else is left in the room, thanking them profusely for spending their time with him and making the night one of the best he’s had in awhile, shaking each and every hand, kissing every other cheek. Louis can’t help but watch, admiring the way everyone seems to be in love with Harry Styles. How couldn’t you be? And it hits Louis, that he’s the only one who’s going back with him, that out of all of the people Harry could bring for a morning sleep-in, he’s picked Louis. 

And maybe it’s for Louis’s amazing music taste, or for the fact that no one made Harry laugh harder tonight, or maybe Harry just likes having a pretty face around (fact about drunk Louis: he gets a bit full of himself) but no matter the reason, he still wants him. 

Sure, maybe Louis wishes they were heading to something a bit more exciting than a nap as they climb into the same car together. He’s been ready to drop on his knees for Harry all night, ready to let him pull him apart and put him back together all over again, those beautiful hands roaming his body, those full lips pressed to his heated skin, the noises of pure pleasure filling the room, yeah, he’s thought about it. But he is absolutely knackered, and maybe having an entirely sober conversation before they, inevitably, hook up, might be a good idea. So, he cuddles into Harry’s side, the bowtie looking neat once again and hair fluffed back up to look presentable for the paps that were waiting outside. Their hands entangle in Harry’s lap as they drive through the slowly filling streets, people headed to work in the early hours. He rests his head on Harry’s shoulder and feels Harry’s cheek on the crown of his head. They nearly drift off in the car like that, the driver having to clear his throat quite loudly to announce their arrival back to the hotel. 

Louis stumbles sleepily, and a little drunkenly, behind Harry as he gently is led through the hotel, his hand loosely in Harry’s. 

Another fact about Harry Styles: He has a lot of fucking tattoos under that white blouse. 

Another fact about Harry Styles: He enjoys kissing for an extra half hour tangled up in the hotel sheets when they’re meant to be sleeping. 

Another fact about Harry Styles: Despite his height, he enjoys being the little spoon. 

Another fact about Harry Styles: He enjoys milk in his tea, which, Louis is just going to have to excuse. 

Another fact about Harry Styles: He is someone Louis very much looks forward to spending many more hours with, for a very long time to come. 

Another fact about Harry Styles: He feels just the same about Louis.


End file.
